I didn’t ask for a polished bio.
I asked for the truth, a little wild, and whatever patterns I was too close to see myself.
My friend Debbie stumbled onto this exercise first. She asked an AI tool to write her an unhinged bio based on everything it had learned about her through their conversations. What came back made her laugh and stopped her cold. Not because it was wrong. Because it was right in a way she hadn’t quite let herself say out loud yet.
She shared the prompt with me. I tinkered with it. Then I tried it myself.
Here’s what came back.
Tashai Lovington started her career co-directing a guerrilla documentary about backyard chickens and has never once slowed down or explained herself.
This is what happens when a deeply introspective writer, a slightly feral creative, and a systems-minded editor all decide to share one nervous system and just see what happens.
She builds things most people overthink into oblivion. Books. Card decks. Businesses that don’t fit clean boxes. She’ll take a messy, emotionally-charged idea and turn it into something structured, sellable, and weirdly beautiful without sanding off its soul. Her core belief? Everyone has a book in them. Her second belief? Your writing isn’t the problem. Your editing is. And honestly, both of those things leak into everything.
She has raised reptiles, written about them like they’re ancient teachers, and somehow made people cry over lizard stories. She can talk about grief, purpose, and subconscious patterns then pivot straight into pricing strategy and book formatting like it’s the same conversation. Because to her, it kind of is.
On any given Tuesday she might be helping a first-time author fix their manuscript structure, selling you a phone wallpaper that quietly rewires your mindset, or listing a self-publishing toolkit on Etsy between bites of lunch. She is not scattered. This is all one thing. The thing is called Rewilding.
She is not interested in doing things the normal way. Traditional business plans? Nope. One niche forever? Also nope. Staying small because it’s safer? Absolutely not. She operates like a multi-passionate architect of her own life. Build, test, refine, occasionally set fire to it, rebuild better. Sometimes chaotic. Usually insightful. Always moving.
Currently in a “burn it down to build it right” era: selling things, simplifying, preparing to go nomadic with her husband, and designing a life that actually fits instead of one that just looks good on paper.
If you ask her what she does, the honest answer is: she helps people come back to themselves and then gives them the tools to actually do something with it.
Give her your draft and she’ll have opinions before she finishes the first paragraph. You wanted feedback. She’s giving you feedback. This is a form of love language.
Her memoir is called Love, Loss & Lizard Poop and she stands behind that title completely. No notes.
I read it back twice. Then sat with it for a minute.
Because I know all of that about myself. But I don’t always say it that clearly. There’s something about seeing it reflected back from the outside that cuts through the noise you’ve built up around your own story.
Which is exactly why I turned it into an exercise for my newsletter community. And why I’m sharing it here too.
Want to try it?
Open whatever AI tool you use. If you’ve been having conversations with it, use that one. If you’re starting fresh, paste in a quick paragraph about your work, your projects, your passions, the things you keep coming back to. Then type this:
“Based on everything you know about me, write me an unhinged bio of [your name]. Be honest, a little wild, and look for the patterns I might be too close to see.”
Read what comes back without immediately editing it in your head. Then ask yourself one question:
What did it see that you’ve been underselling?
That’s the thing worth paying attention to.
If you’re a nonfiction author trying to figure out how your story fits together, that’s exactly the kind of clarity work I love doing. My self-editing card deck From Draft to Done helps you see your manuscript the way a fresh set of eyes would, without waiting on anyone else to tell you what’s working.
You can find it here.
And if you want more of this kind of thing, my newsletter Rewilding You lands in inboxes every week with writing, editing, and life-design thoughts for people who refuse to fit a clean box. Join us here.